


Sirenic

by DianaeFox



Series: Word of the Day Prompts - Vegebulocracy [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 12:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaeFox/pseuds/DianaeFox
Summary: Sirenic: Adjective | sahy-REN-ikmelodius, tempting, or alluring





	Sirenic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musicofthespheres](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/gifts).



> Sirenic: Adjective | sahy-REN-ik
> 
> melodious, tempting, or alluring

The almost sweet, metallic scent of blood, the rivulets of sweat trickling down his body, and char from the burns his ki inflicted on his targets, those were the things that called to his senses. The surge of adrenaline as he faced down the next challenge. The anticipation from tuning out the normal distractions of life as he focused on his goal. Nothing could sway him from his goal. All of his focus was on pushing himself further, reaching for that next plateau. But then there was the crack in his mental defenses, as he caught a familiar, distracting scent.

Strawberries. 

Their sweet scent almost cloying to his nose in contrast to the crackle of ozone wafting up from the burnt electronics of another of her incompetent drones. The acrid scent soon washed out by the earthier tones of that “chock-of-late” that she had been eating when he had last brought the broken remains of one of her toys to her to repair. He leveled his gaze at another of her toys as it buzzed around, this newest batch she had given him was pathetic, barely any better than the last batch of bots. Maybe the woman had hit a plateau of her own.

He slammed a fist into a bot that came a little too close for comfort and heard sound of something delicate breaking as the scent of charred wood with cacophonous hints of fermented fruits assailed him. His gloves were covered in the stench as he ripped them off.

“Vulgar Woman!” he bellowed into the chamber, hearing his own voice echoing of its metal walls.

“Do you know what day it is?” came her voice from the speaker, her tone wasn’t her usual shrill annoyance at the destruction of her inventions.

“Should I?” He responded offhandedly. Something was wrong about this training session. The woman was meticulous with her work, he’d never scented anything other than the sharp scent of ozone or heated metal when he’d destroyed the drones previously. Any scent she’d left on them was minimal at its worst. He usually made sure of that.

“Then maybe this will jog your memory, dumbass.”

While he was puzzling out what she could possibly mean by that, all of the bots save one powered down. That one remaining was almost directly over head when it just… fell to pieces as the now familiar sound of a capsule being activated echoed through the room. The increased gravity made the scattered debris drop to the ground at an alarming rate as he was covered in scraps of cloth, cloth that had her scent all over it, not just her regular scent, but all the scents that were her, from freshly bathed with those fruity cleansers she prefers, to the fragrance that she would apply when heading in to deal with the “bored” directors, to the faint tinge of nicotine that even her most fervent scrubbing couldn’t wash away, also that earthy, but salty scent from when she would be helping her mother in the garden, even the mix of chemicals used in the “pool” faint behind the scent of the cream used to block the radiation from the star her planet orbits swirled around him. Then he caught the sweet underlying note of her heat that sparked in the middle of an argument, or when he’d trap her and make her squirm, her own primal scent, the sweaty, eager, and ready scent that screamed a sirenic song to the most primitive parts of his being, the need to take her and lay claim to every ounce of her flesh and bone.

His head was still swimming from the assault to his senses when the gravity cycled down and the seal of the door hissed open, bringing with it a breath of fresh air and the Woman, herself.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, you dummy.” her eye twitching with irritation. “You lost track of time in here and the day is almost over.” 

Her voice dropped it’s irritated tone, and picked up a rough husky tone as she stalked over to him. “I know exactly how you’ll make it up to me.” She walked along the bits of cloth that lay scattered on the ground. “Each of these is part of an outfit you ruined when you couldn’t contain your urges…” She walked right up to him and plucked a scrap from his hair. “Let’s add to the collection.” she purred as she pulled him in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, that's that....


End file.
